


The Enemy of my Enemy

by therune



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therune/pseuds/therune
Summary: In the Royal Conservatory, Emily finds a prisoner.The enemy of her enemy is her friend, so she takes them along, hoping they will have some answers for Emily's many, many questions.Sadly, life is never that easy and somewhere in the Void, the Outisder is surely fascinated.





	1. Chapter 1

Emily has made her way to the Royal Conservatory over rooftops, a missing grate in a fountain and the cellar which is guarded by a thing that used to be a hound, once upon a time. The inner yard seems empty at first, but she knows better. The direct route is, in her experience, always the worst one. Thanks to Corvo's teachings – and how her heart aches when she thinks of her father, imprisoned in stone back at her home, next to her throne, occupied by an unkillable witch – she has managed to avoid being seen by almost everyone. A fierce desire for justice (is it justice though?) asks for retaliation, tells her to punish the guards and cut her way indiscriminately across Karnaca. But she is not a murderer neither an executioner. And who can really say that these men and women are guilty? For all they know, their rightful Duke has uncovered a neglected heiress to the throne while Empress Emily sends the Crownkiller to silence any opposition. To the people here, it must sound legitimate. 

It's different in here. There were corpses in the rooms, murdered seemingly for sport. The women she spies on... their fingers are black as if they dipped their hands in ink or ash (or worse). When they speak, it's as if another voice speaks with them in unison, creating a strange disharmony that sends shivers down her spine. They are witches like Delilah, disappearing at whim, tending to the strange vines and talking to the hounds. The Conservatory is their cruel playground. As if on cue, a witch appears next to the big statue in the yard and begins to ...imitate Delilah? Mock her? A silly children's game, played with a tyrant. Emily looks up – another invaluable tipp from Corvo on how to find alternative routes. There is a stone ledge and if she's lucky, not all of the windows are closed. She reaches up with her mind, the void tingling in her fingertips and pulls herself forward. The witches are non the wiser, engaged in their game. A window has indeed been opened and Emily is about to be convinced that her luck has turned when she spies an enormous vine inside. The outside is like bark, from within there shines a sinister red. Blue wisps curl around the bottom and of course it moves. She doesn't want to know what would happen if it caught her. The gate to the right is warped and half-grown shut. As there seems to be another of the strange plants on the other side, Emily will have to find another way. Slowly she steps over to a fallen bookcase. Hoping that it will hold her weight without tipping over, she walks across it until she can just grab the edge of the chandelier. As she pulls herself up, she is already plotting her path. More chandeliers and – yes, one of the window panes in the ceiling is broken. Emily reaches for the gap and pulls. From here, she can spot more vines and the heart in her pocket – her mother's heart, how surreal – begins to beat in a harsh staccato. Something touched by the void is back there, either one of the runes or a bone charm. 

Deciding she could use every bit of help she could possibly get, Emily slowly inches forward. A rune hisses and crackles, then dissolves in her hand. The tingling feeling gets stronger. She can spy a glass door and moves towards it. Ashworth's office must be near. The room she enters belongs in a butcher shop, reminding her of Grim Alex' lab back at Addermire. Body parts pinned into grotesque shapes, blood everywhere, demented scribbles in the corner. Now that the heart has slowed and the rune is gone, she can make out voices. Muffled, probably not on this floor. It's two women and one of them sounds like Delilah, except it can't be her, because she's sitting on Emily's throne back in Dunwall.  
They talk about Ashworth's progress on a machine here that corrupts the order, Delilah mentions a project of her own. Everything in Emily screams to move, to protest, but she doesn't dare to.  
“How is our guest in the archives?” Delilah asks, voice dripping with malice and glee.  
“Alive, as you requested.”  
“Not terribly fond of his accomodations, I trust?”  
“Of course not, my Empress,” Ashworth confirms, tone matching Delilah's. Emily shudders to think what they could be doing to a prisoner, seeing as how they treated the other people in here.  
“Let's see the mouse trying to stop me this time.” 

Then she hears one set of footsteps, but they're not coming to this room. Emily takes a closer look. There's an audiograph on the examination table, notes and mechanical things on the desk beside it. She glances at the note when she reads about the device. Those lenses on the table have led to the machine malfunctioning, almost severing Ashworth's connection to the Void. This could be a way to take her out of the game. 

In the end, it's almost too easy. She chains together the fates of the witches in the room, shoots one with a sleepdart and watches them fall down. She repeats the process – she's getting perhaps too fond of this one – and soon there's no one left conscious. No one to stop her.  
Emily slips the lenses into the machine, her thoughts crawling at the sight of the coffins and dead sisters inside, used for some nefarious purpose. As she flips the switch, the machine hums to life. Ashworth appears to investigate and the void seems to pour out of her, flaking off like ash. She sinks down defeated, lamenting her fate. Emily chokes her out so she doesn't have to listen to her. 

Finally having some peace and quiet, she tears through the Conservatory, turning over every scrap of paper, opening every drawer and taking anything worth value, financial or for information. In Ashworth's office there is a note telling Emily about records in the archives. Also, in the middle of the room, decorated like an altar, there is a statue of Delilah.  
Of course it's cursed, because it starts talking in Delilah's voice. That must be who she overheard earlier. She appears enraged by Ashworth's fate, spewing threats and taunts. Emily doesn't care. She has already decided to end Delilah's coup and nothing will stop her.  
Rifling through the office leads her to a note. There's something in the archives, notes on how Delilah made herself immortal. And hopefully, a clue on how to undo the process. 

Bloodflies infest large parts of the archives, buzzing menacingly whenever she gets too close to the nests although Emily is sure to leave a generous margin of space. These insects unsettle her – so tall, so aggressive and they infest corpses. It feels a bit like the Plague back all those years ago. She had been shielded from the worst, but the similarities are there. The nests have taken over a large part of the walls and the floor. A cage holds the information she needs. The audiograph turns on, Ashworth's voice comes out and it's the name again. Stilton. Alexandria has mentioned it once in passing. There has to be a connection. Meagan knows a lot about Karnaca, she will be able to tell her who he is. 

Emily hasn't forgotten about the prisoner. Someone who had tried to stop Delilah.... allies are a scarce ressource for her. Maybe they can help? In the end, she doesn't have to look far. 

There is a man, strapped to a chair, vines digging into his flesh. Blood crusts the side of his face and stains his shirt. He doesn't seem to be entirely conscious, moving in his chains, trying to get away from his confinement, but it's no use. There's the small matter of a knife stabbed through his left hand. He seems malnourished, pale even under a skin that suggests he's a native, usually olive, not unlike Corvo. A white beard, flecked with blood, covers most of his face. It's probably this combination of facts that allow Emily to overlook the obvious until she steps closer, loosens the chains and mutters a small apology.  
“This will hurt,” she warns, before she yanks out the knife. The man grunts in pain, slumps, almost slips from the chair onto the floor. She holds him back, gripping his shirt, knowing she is touching more wounds underneath.  
A feverish eye opens, glassy, almost unseeing, clouded with pain.  
“Thank you,” gruff voice, barely more than a whisper.  
She flinches away as if burnt.  
The gray eyes. She has never forgotten them.  
The man is Daud. This man murdered her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

Thankfully she is spared further conversation when Daud does fall unconscious. 

A multitude of thoughts fight inside her. Kill him. Leave him to die. Feed him to a hound. Let the bloodflies lay eggs in his chest. Flee. She wishes Corvo was here. She wishes Corvo had taken care of Daud 15 years ago. She wishes her mother was still alive. 

Emily clutches at her chest, overwhelmed by everything. She sits and breathes for a few minutes. Pointless revenge won't help her. She has made it this far without succumbing to those dark urges. She can't afford the distraction, if there's nothing else holding her back. Corvo had claimed the same thing, back when he had told Emily everything about his struggles to get her back. Daud had been surrounded by his band of void-touched assassins, possibly the most dangerous man Corvo could have faced. Taking the small matter of being poisoned and being betrayed into account, it was understandable that Corvo had aimed to avoid this particular fight. Not knowing whether he could win... he simply didn't have the time for a dangerous and risky fight as long as Emily hasn't been safe. In the end, he had sneaked into the man's office and stolen the key he needed before leaving the Floded District behind him. Emily has been so angry with him back then. But now... she understands. Its the same she is doing now. She could have fought Ramsay...and half the royal guard stationed in her palace and risked death before having had a chance to help Corvo. She could have cut a bloody swatch across Karnaca, rushing into danger, going after the Crownkiller and Jindosh. But she didn't. She was patient, silent, avoiding detection whenever she could, never entering any fight he could avoid. But...it's Daud. The Knife of Dunwall, a merciless killer. He murdered her mother. 

Her mother... Emily reaches into her jacket and closes her fingers around the heart. Could she dare...  
She takes out the heart, caressing it. Then, she squeezes once, gently.  
 _Daud. His blade was the last thing the Empress felt._  
There are tears in Emily's eyes. What is she doing? Letting the last thing she has of her mother come into contact with this monster?  
 _He thought he had stopped Delilah 15 years ago when she went after the Empress' daughter._  
What?   
_He swore off killing after that day. He hasn't taken a single life since._  
Emily tears her gaze away from the heart, feeling despair claw into her insides. There's something else, too. But it's too overwhelming, threatening to drown her. It's as if a great tide is rising up, waves crashing over her head, something pulling at her. Maybe...  
 _There are many things he regrets. He doesn't think that she can ever forgive him for making her like himself._  
Is this about her? No, she doesn't dare to imagine. She is nothing like him. Quickly, she squeezes a last time, praying that the heart will give her an answer. Something that will make her next action easier. This will either save or condemn him. And likely her as well.   
_The Outsider gave him a name. Delilah._

 

She doesn't know how long she crouches on the floor, body bent protectively over her mother's heart, silent for now. After a lifetime of emotional turmoil, Emily makes up her mind. She needs answers and Daud has some of them. Quickly she wipes away the tears and fixes her mask. She still has use to make of him.  
He's no good to her in this state. Sokolov recovered on the Dreadful Wale, maybe he and Alexandria can help Daud. For now, she rips off one of his sleeves and wraps it around the wound in his hand. Other methods will have to wait. It feels likes ages ago when she rescued Sokolov from Jindosh' clutches, but it's been only days. A giant from her childhood turned into a frail old man.  
Also strangely like Sokolov, Daud's lighter than expected. The emotional toll is nearly unbearable, but the actual weight is manageable. At least he doesn't snore over her shoulder, he's out cold. 

Making her way through Cyria Gardens with a body is hard. She constantly has to check all angles, wait for guards to pass while almost vibrating out of her skin. It takes forever to reach Megan's skiff. She has her back turned, watching the black water.

“Is it done?” she asks in greeting.   
“Ashworth won't cause us any trouble. I found a prisoner in the conservatory. He's in bad shape, but he has answers I need.”  
Megan raises her eyebrow and Emily can almost hear the comeback that is burning on her tongue when Daud gasps awake.   
“Delilah,” he rasps.  
Emily sets him down in the skiff, mindful of the injuries, but not exactly gentle.  
At the sight of his face, Megan lets out a small scream. Has she recognized the Knife of Dunwall? 

The grey eyes struggle open and fix on Emily. “Empress,” he forces out between pained hisses, “it's not safe.” That's as far as he gets to before losing consciousness again. Fresh blood begins to seep through the shirt that, upon closer inspection, had started out as linen white. She had thought it was rustbrown, but it's all blood.   
“We need to get back to the ship,” Emily urges when Megan won't move. She looks as shaken as Emily had felt. Megan had mentioned connections to Dunwall. Everyone had been afraid of the Knife of Dunwall. Maybe he killed someone she knew? It's unfair to ask this of her, but Emily can't afford much niceties. 

“He was in the archives of the Conservatory, prisoner of the witches. I think he is connected to Delilah somehow. It's understandable if you don't like him, but I think we could use him.”  
Finally, Megan takes her seat, and the boat purrs to life. She keeps glancing back at the unconscious assassin, gaze unreadable. 

Megan calls for Alexandria's aid as soon as they are close. Emily uses her powers to go on deck with Daud, leaving Megan to secure the skiff.   
Sokolov is recovering in his room, leaving the cot in the main room free. Alexandria rushes over with supplies. It's obvious she has many questions, but remains professional. Emily has to assist her. They cut off the shirt and pants, revealing gruesome wounds, several of which have reopened. His ankles and wrists look heavily injured by the chains. The hand's not much better either.   
“Malnutrition. Dehydration. Bruises from fists and blunt objects. Cuts. Knives and objects with strange edges. Some deep and... Stabwound through the left hand. More lacerations on back and legs.” The list goes on.  
Emily helps as best as she can, preparing salves and wraps bandages. Alexandria cleans all wounds, stitches up the bigger ones, instructs Emily. Megan has gone to check on Sokolov, but returns quickly. She paces, watching the whole process intently. 

After hours, Alexandria steps back. “I've done all I can, Emily.”  
“What are his chances?” Emily asks.  
“I'd like to be optimistic, but this man has been chained up and tortured for weeks. We can only hope for the best now.” She wipes the sweat from her brow.   
“We've just depleted all of our medical supplies. I need to go into town, we will need more.,” she announces.   
“Take the skiff,” Megan suggests, “I can stay and watch.”  
“Are you sure?” Emily asks. It's too dangerous alone for Alexandria so she would have to accompany her. Megan usually is very protective of the skiff and doesn't let other people steer. To give it up like that...

“I can manage,” she bites back. Emily hadn't meant...  
“I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't, Megan” she replies in a soft voice, “I merely noticed you were uncomfortable with him. I wouldn't want to leave you alone with-”  
“An unconscious, badly hurt man. I can manage,” she repeats, “go with Alexandria and get the supplies. I'll keep watch.”


	3. Chapter 3

Emily trains on deck, using her powers and her sword. The familiar routine is comforting. She can almost hear her father instructing her. Meagan comes up and leans against the railing.   
“Alexandria says he'll wake soon. She's in a good mood, he seems to improve.”  
“I'll question him,” Emily announces. Hopefully there will be time for a quick wash.   
“I'll stay up here if it's all the same to you.”  
Emily can't begrudge her that.

She does have time for a wash and a change of clothes. With this, she looks more put together than she actually is, emulating her mother. Her mother didn't need to carry a sword, a traitorous thought reminds her. The heavy metal door swings open. To the left there is the big board of people she has to remove, the participants of this coup. To the right there is the workbench cluttered with more and more things since Sokolov is on the mend. Sokolov himself is in his room, she can faintly her the audiograph. In front of the board there is the cot and on it, Daud. He does seem to be better, although it would be hard for him to look worse than he had done when he first came here. A gray blanket covers most of his body, but she can sill see the white bandages peeking out. Those aren't soaked in blood, also a change from a few days ago.

Alexandria is kneeling next to the cot.  
“You're here,” she greets Emily. How she can remain so positive despite everything is a mystery to Emily.  
“It's remarkable. He makes vast improvements and none of the wounds have suffered from infection. Whoever tortured him was very keen on keeping him for a long time, it seems.”  
Does Alexandria even notice her tone when she says this? Just how much of Grim Alex, of the Crownkiller is in her? Technically...all of her. Emily chides herself, shaking her head, thinks back to when her old governess Callista used to point out unladylike behavior. And to think that she then joined a Whaler's crew herself. It is unfair to think of Alexandria this way.  
“You did exemplary work, Alexandria. Thank you.”  
Alexandria rises to her feet.   
“I simply do everything I can.” 

There is no movement but Emily feels that he is awake. There's a change in the air. As if the world had just released a breath it has been holding for days. Daud had been awake before, but not particularly lucid. The few words he had said hadn't made much more sense than the disjointed ramblings of the heart, as unfair as it feels to compare.  
He seemed to recognize her, at least. That hasn't changed.   
“Empress,” he addresses her.   
His expression is unreadable. He doesn't look particularly scared and something in her screams that he should be.   
Daud tries to sit upright struggles until Alexandria steps in to help, drawing him up and placing a pillow at his back. 

“I saved you from Ashworth and her friends in the Conservatory. You owe me.”   
He owes her for so much more than that and he knows.   
“You will answer all questions put to you truthfully and as helpful as you can be,” Emily continues in her best regal tone.  
“Of course, your majesty.”  
It doesn't sound mocking, but feels like it. Is it real or her mind playing tricks on her? He is just a man, she reminds herself. Injured, lying on a cot and unarmed. There is no mark on his hand, not anymore. Probably also due to Delilah. Just like she did to her father.

 

“How do you know Delilah?” she asks, “I want to know the whole truth.”  
“I banished her into the void 15 years ago. Didn't take.”  
Emily looks unimpressed.   
“Why?”  
“Our mutual friend came to me” she glances at her hand, mark covered up. He follows her gaze and nods.   
“He gave me a name, a mystery. Delilah. I found out that a witch named Delilah Copperspoon was trying to kill Emily Kaldwin.”  
“So she could be Empress in my place,” Emily concludes. During the turmoil, with her mother and Emily gone, the city would have been desperate for any heir.  
There is a sound that could have been a laugh.  
“You don't know how right you are. She didn't plan on ruling as Delilah Kaldwin. She planned to possess you.”  
“That's impossible.”  
“Is it? You are marked and have impossible abilities. She's marked, too, and was a witch even before. Her talents have to do with art. Paintings.”

There had been the talking statue in the Conservatory, but this is too much.   
“I don't believe you,” she finally states.   
He doesn't even look surprised.   
“That's stupid”  
“How dare you?! How do you think you can talk to me?” Years of anger and hatred threaten to break out. She is yelling, but she doesn't care.   
“You don't get to talk to me that way. I only took you because you were useful, I wanted to let you rot back there! Whatever these witches did, it was too kind for the likes of you!”  
Alexandria takes a step back.   
Daud seems unaffected.   
“I know I'm only alive because you need something I have. Because of what I know. And it's stupid to ignore exactly that just because you don't like it.”  
It hurts that he's right. She took him because he's Delilah's enemy. Because Delilah kept him prisoner. Because Delilah saw value. His worth is measured in information and she didn't spend time and resources on him healing only to dismiss everything he tells her. But how can she believe him? He might say anything to make himself look better in her eyes. And which story could be better than that of an unsung hero?  
“I'm supposed to believe that you saved me from Delilah, from a magical threat no one else knew about. You.”  
That seems to rile him up. He looks uncomfortable and for the first time, he can't hold her gaze.   
“I didn't know... at first, I was following what the Outsider said. By the time I figured out what was at stake, I couldn't... I couldn't not do it. I owe you, Empress,” his tone is almost pleading, trying to get her to understand. 'Owe' seems to almost hurt him and she is grimly satisfied that it does. He owes her everything. Her mother. Her childhood. Her life.   
“Do you have any proof?” she asks finally.   
He shakes his head.  
“I eliminated every trace of Delilah. Or so, I thought. I burned the paintings, the vines, the whole damn manor. And she still came back.”  
Emily leans against the workbench, one hand on the sword handle, one hand over the heart in her pocket. Like this, it's almost as if her parents are with her, holding her hand. The heart had said something... it seems like his story is true, to some extent. But she still can't bring herself to believe it. 

“I can vouch for him,” Megan says as she enters the room. Emily hadn't even noticed her coming in from deck.   
Daud's eyes snap towards her, narrowing. “No,” he growls, struggling, trying to get to his feet, but Alexandria holds him back.   
“You'll tear your stitches, lie back!” she commands him.

“What do you mean?” Emily asks, entirely focused on Megan. What is going on?  
“Just a moment,” Megan counters and goes to the small room to the left. This door had alwas been locked, but Emily had assumed it held valuables, weapons or similar things. Sokolov and Alexandria have their room, as does she, but Megan seems to sleep on the top floor, judging from the bed and journal.   
Megan's help has been invaluable and she is entitled to her secrets. Emily had tried to peek, in a way, with the heart, but nothing concrete ever came from it. 

“I'm so sorry, Emily,” Megan begins as she steps out of the room. Her hand is holding something. A helmet?   
No.  
In the light of the cabin, Emily can see what it is. She has never forgotten, this face haunting her nightmares.  
It' a whaler's mask, just like the assassins had worn on that day.  
When Daud had killed her mother. 

“I was there,” Megan confirms her fears, sounding ashamed, but still firm. Like this is something that has to be said, even if she'd rather never speak of it.  
“My real name is Billie Lurk and I was with Daud on that day. I broke into the Tower. I watched him kill Jessamine Kaldwin. And everything he says is true.”


	4. Chapter 4

Emily's mind is a maelstrom, thoughts whirling through her brain, crashing against each other like waves in a storm. Everything seems to drag her down, to drown her. 

How can this be? How has she ended up on a ship with not one, but three killers? In this room, almost all her fears are present. The demons from her childhood alongside the Crownkiller who had destabilized her reign to the point of the coup. If Delilah were to enter, this would be a complete set. This is impossible! 

“You didn't have to do this for me, Billie” Daud rasps, letting Alexandria push him down onto the cot. He seems regretful.

“I didn't do it for you, old man, I did it for me. For Emily,” Megan...Billie, or whoever she is, counters. 

“How is this for me?” Emily says flatly. 

“To help you understand Delilah and how dangerous she is. I know Delilah. I knew her back in the day. She turned me against my people,” Megan fixes her with a stare, all the bitterness of the world in her words as she spits them out, “made me betray them for a taste of power. I bought into her bullshit. Her magic... is unlike anything I've ever seen. And trust me, I've seen my fair share of dark magic.”

Megan had mentioned something like this before. Emily knew that Megan was connected to Ashworth somehow based on her comments on the skiff, but like this? No. 

“How did you meet Delilah then?” Alexandria asks. Emily had almost forgotten about her. It seems like the good doctor is the only one left with some sense in her head. 

“It was back in Dunwall. Back then, I belonged to Daud's gang, the Whalers. Things were tough with the Plague and so we took on pretty much every job we could take, gathering up as much coin as we could to leave the wretched city behind. But this job, the last job, it had changed Daud.”  
Emily doesn't believe it one bit. Not a monster like him.  
“I believed he had grown soft. Weak. I was always ambitious, working my way up through the ranks, but I believed he still had much to teach me. Not so much after the job.”

No one dares to call it by its proper name, the assassination of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, the murder of Emily's mother. Both of them, murderers, look ashamed. 

“Daud had shared his power with us. We were connected to him. But if I was to succeed him, I needed a way to preserve that connection. Or, gain a new one. I had looked for the Outsider, prayed at the shrines like Daud had told me he had before, but no god ever came. Instead, Delilah found me and saw right through me. I was young, power hungry, disillusioned... I was ripe for picking.”

Now Megan averts her eyes from Daud.  
“The plan was for the Overseers to storm our base, kill or imprison any last whaler. I'd kill Daud and then Delilah would share her powers with me. Then I'd give the others a choice: go with me or Daud. But it never happened this way.”

Megan trails her fingers over the mask. Emily hates what she sees. Megan - who she thought was a friend, her desire to save Sokolov earnest, her help invaluable. Of course she knew that Megan had secrets, but this... how could she keep this from her? How can she dare to be in the same room with her? How can she be human after this? Daud had always been a monstrous figure, a shadow in red, marked by the Outsider; without remorse or empathy. Only left alive beause her father valued Emily's life over revenge. But Megan... Megan looks at Sokolov and sees a father, she watches over him and cares for him, even if they both snark at each other. She gives spare coin and weapons to Emily, ferries her, just like Samuel had done. How can Emily compare the two? How can Megan measure up to the kind old sailor? And yet, Emily can see parallels and something ugly in her rages on. This woman helped murder her mother, is standing next to her killer, even now.

Megan drops the mask on the workbench, the eyes reflecting the light, looking more ghostlike by the second.   
“Daud won. He came back during the ambush, fought back the Overseers and freed his men. I confronted him, tried to kill him and take his place, but he won that fight, too. Once she saw that I was of no further use, Delilah abandoned me.” She draws a deep breath, then looks directly at Emily.  
“She is a powerhungry, mad witch who will stop at nothing to get what she wants. I saw the painting she made of you, Emily, and it was frightening. The colors blazed like an inferno, like they were trying to leap off the page. It was unnatural and would have killed you. She wanted the throne and thought nothing of sacrificing the soul of a young girl to get it. You can't imagine what I've seen her do, what I helped her do.”

Everyone is silent after her confession.   
Megan appears drained and stares at the mask, as if the eyes hold some sort of answer for her. Alexandria gets to her feet silently. She, too, is in deep thought, probably thinking of Delilah and what she had witnessed her do, if she even remembers. 

“I need time to think,” Emily announces before fleeing from the room, using her powers to get as far away as quickly as possible. The endless sky and ocean seem barely enough to contain her inner turmoil. 

Back in the cabin, Alexandria excuses herself. “I need to consult my notebooks,” she says and leaves. Everyone knows it's an excuse to flee from the room. 

Only Daud and Megan remain. 

In the end, Daud acts first.   
“I should have been better to you,” he says to Megan, “I was a shit mentor.”  
“I did try to kill you. Destroy everything you had built. And you still let me go,” Megan counters softly, “you weren't so bad.”  
“I made you into a person who tried to kill me. That's my fault.”  
“I was a murderer before you even met me.”  
“But if I hadn't-”  
“What if... who cares, old man? In the end, it was my choice and it was a bad one. I regretted it and I paid for it.   
He offers her his hand and she grasps it firmly.  
“I'm glad I got to see you again,” he admits in a gruff voice.   
“As am I”


	5. Chapter 5

Night finds Emily on a buoy that is bobbing on the dark waves.   
She can't stand to be on that ship anymore.   
Daud had been a calculated risk. She'd been shocked to find him, but to bring him aboard was her choice. He'd be useful against Delilah and then face a proper trial.   
But Megan...that's another betrayal she didn't see coming. First the Crownkiller murders, the public backlash, then the coup – seems like she can trust so little people now. Corvo, but Corvo's encased in stone, like a grotesque statue in her throne room. She can't even entertain the idea that he's dead and that's his corpse decorating her home. Alexei....who is truly dead, who she watched die because she was loyal.   
Then there were Sokolov and Megan and now that's a lie as well.   
Does Sokolov know? Does he know who Megan really is?   
Now she truly is alone. 

Her hands reach for the heart. It's as much a source of comfort than it is of pain. It hurts to know that this is all that's left of Jessamine Kaldwin, a grotesque lump of dead flesh, held together by wires and cogs; a cursed heart that tells her secrets. But she can hear her voice again, and that is too bittersweet. When she closes her eyes, it's like it was back then, when the world was alright, when she was a princess with a kind mother and a dashing father, an empire at her feet. But the heart is sad and the worst is that it can only speak a limited number of sentences until it repeats itself. There is simply not enough of her mother left. She will lose her all over again and the profound loss is more than she can bear. 

“What would you do, mother, if you were here? If it were you...what should I do? I miss you”  
 _Pushed out into the harsh world, you are alone but for a few allies_  
She does cry, a harsh gasp and a few tears. 

_I wonder if you remember me as I was. Sometimes I think of those days. Do you?_  
She does, all the time. It's strange to accept that her mother has been gone for longer than she had known her. There are a hundred people with stories about the late Empress. Not all of them can be true. Lately, her mother has become a great shadow and Emily struggles to reach the light.   
Emily could hear the people talk.   
Jessamine would have solved the crisis.  
Jessamine would have stopped the crownkiller.  
Jessamine would have been a better Empress.  
And Emily wants to agree, wholeheartedly. Why couldn't it be like this? Why couldn't she reign until Emily was ready? No child should bear the weight of a kingdom.   
She could have done more. She should have.   
All too eagerly did she leave her work to secretaries and ministers, preferring to scrawl a signature under half-read papers before running off with Wyman, Alexei and anyone who offered something that wasn't the palace.

“I caused this,” she realizes. The poverty, the Duke's cruel reign, the way she dealt with public unrest – mainly by not dealing with it at all.   
A childish voice blames everyone but her. Why couldn't the Duke be normal? Why couldn't her minister be competent? Why couldn't her guard protect her? Why couldn't Corvo... this has to stop.   
Her father has been a faithful lord protector, spymaster, unofficial lord regent on top of grieving husband in everything but title. He has given her everything. And she will not fail him now by giving up. 

When she reaches the boat, there's a lantern burning near the bow. It stands on the table next to a few plates and bottles. Bundled in an outrageous amount of blankets is Sokolov. He looks like a harmless old man, napping in the sun; only it's night and when she appraoches his eyes are as sharp as steel and as electrifying as a wall of light.   
“I thought you'd keep me waiting here all night. It's too cold for these old bones, you know.”  
“I'm glad to see you recover.”  
“All thanks to the good doctor and my Megan.”  
Her scowl must show because Sokolov sighs, something rattling deep in his chest.   
“She's changed,” he begins, motioning for her to sit down and eat. “your dinner's cold, but I've been told that my mulberry pie is good regardless of the time of the day.”  
Emily sits and reaches for the bottle first. 

“I didn't know about her past at first, but I sensed that we were kindred spirits. We're both responsible for much death and we both have regrets. One for each drop of water in the ocean.”  
“You're a natural philosopher. You're _the_ natural philosopher. Your mind changed this era, Anton,” she counters, "and she murdered for coin or because someone told her to.”  
“I have no doubt that the blood on my hands is more plentiful. How many people died because of the walls of light? How many because of the pylons? How many whales suffered and died because of me? Because of the whale oil industry? How many were hurt in the factories, struggling for progress and disregarding the safety of the workers? Thousands of lives weigh on my conscience, Emily.”  
“That's not the same! Your contributions-”  
“Are they worth it? Is that what you want to say? How do you measure, my imperial majesty? Is the discovery of electricity worth one life? Or a hundred? Two hundred? How do you count?”  
“But you saved lives, too. The serum against the plague alone kept thousands alive.”  
“And how many died as experiments? How many test subjects were needed until it worked? No, Emily, I carry death with me. I'm an old man now, I have nothing left but regrets.”  
He takes a swig and grimaces.   
“Even the brandy disagrees with me.”  
"I remember you drinking that swill back at the pub,” she reminisces. That gets him to smile.   
“That was a lifetime ago. Your father knocked me out and carried me over the damn bridge to the hound cage. I thought they were going to let plague rats eat me. And instead it turned out to be one of the best things that could have ever happened. I found you again. And I met my dear friend Piero.”  
He drinks again.  
“I wish he was still alive. It's not fair that people like me keep on living when the young and bright die so soon”  
Piero Joplin had always been overshadowed by Sokolov, even after developing the cure with him. In the end, he hadn't minded, claiming that the respect of a few was more than the respect of a nation who never understood him. He died in a laboratory accident.  
She clinks her bottle against his.  
“To old friends”  
They drink and reminisce about old friends until the bottles are empty and they have nothing left but memories of people long dead. 

“Megan thinks the world of you,” Sokolov says in the end when a pale sliver of light creeps over the horizon. “She wanted to tell you because you deserve the truth, but no moment was ever right. You need her for the mission and she couldn't let herself scare you away. What she did back then... she is trying to help you.”  
“How does any of that help me?” Emily bites back.  
“You now have three people who knew different sides of Delilah. Her enemy and conqueror, her ally, and me, her teacher. And together we will find a way to stop her.”


	6. Chapter 6

Emily writes in her journal, hoping that seeing her thoughts on a page might make them easier to understand or at least easier to sort through.

It starts with her mother. Is Delilah really her mother's half-sister? Is she truly Emily's aunt as she has claimed? The only people who would know for certain is her grandfather or Delilah's mother. Her mother... it's possible. Sokolov's accounts seem to confirm it. In her mind she tries to conjure up Delilah's face. Is there a trace of her mother's features? Something that reminds her of portraits of Euhorn Kaldwin? But there is nothing. But whether there simply is no resemblance or she can't see past what Delilah has done, her deeds warping her face and Emily's impression of her... she can't tell. 

But in the end, it doesn't even matter if it is true. Delilah has told the world and they have listened. Even in a legal battle, it would be the older half-sister against the bastard daughter of the Empress. Not terribly good odds at Gristol Court in civil times. 

Daud, Megan and Sokolov have confirmed Delilah's affinity for art and have laid testimony to her abnormal skills. While she certainly doesn't trust Daud, Megan can confirm everything he says and although she can't ignore that the relationship between them has changed irrevocably, a part of Emily wants to believe her. Sokolov vouches for her, claiming that he trusts Megan with his life.

It helps to talk with Alexandria. She is intelligent, kind and removed enough from the complex tangle of Dunwall's plague epidemic to give Emily clarity. Sadly she is planning on leaving soon, having sorted out her own thoughts. She wants to return to Karnaca to help the sick and how can Emily blame her for that?   
They share tea before she is leaving, her cabin already cleared of her belongings and equipment, all loaded onto the skiff. 

“I understand that trust is very hard for you and with good reason. There's been a coup against you, Emily, and re-evaluating every relationship you thought you had is likely a thing you will have to keep doing for some time. I can only offer that I am grateful to you and that I trust Anton and Megan. They have your best interests at heart. “

What she says rings true. Everything Megan and Sokolov have done is to help her. Without them, she wouldn't have escaped to Karnaca, at least not that fast and safely. She has relied on Megan's ship and her experience to guide her and that has been invaluable so far. Yet she cannot forget that mask. She cannot ignore the person Megan was 15 years ago, not when her mother's murderer sleeps a few meters away. Emily can hear them talking at night, reminiscing about old times, telling old stories. And while one half of her wants to eavesdrop and learn everything, she can't stand to be in the same room.   
“You are wise Alexandria and I call myself blessed to have made your acquaintance,” Emily offers as they both rise.  
“I owe you my life and my sanity, Emily. I will not waste those gifts.”  
They hug, briefly but warmly.   
Alexandria leaves behind a case of Addermire solution for Emily and a box full of bandages for Megan. She has taken over Daud's care and everybody on board is glad for it. 

 

They're waiting until the next day or even the one after to drive to the Dust district. The severe weather warnings have them stay on the ship and Emily is restless.   
Pacing the length of her cabin kept her occupied for maybe an hour, but she can't stand it in there anymore. The wind howls outside, fueling her temper. In order to give herself something to do, she goes to the main room where Sokolov is working on a canvas. The sketch shows her.   
“I can take a look at that spyglass of yours,” he offers when he notices her impatience, “see if I can't tweak it a little. Might come in handy.”  
She thanks him, the sound of work comforting to her. 

 

“I knew him once,” Sokolov begins as he picks up his vast arsenal of tools, “at the Academy. A young man, joined out of the blue. No family connection, no recommendation or schooling reports to be had, but he had money for the tuition, so he was enrolled.”  
She doesn't want to hear it.   
“A sharp mind, very analytical. Sometimes I wonder if I drove him off. Wonder what could have happened if only he had stayed.”  
It doesn't quite feel like a rug pulled out from her feet, she's too used to that. But of course, Sokolov knew Daud. It's as if her life was a play on stage and now she gets a peek behind the scenes and somehow everything and everyone is connected but her. 

“I'm an old man, Emily,” he says somberly, hunched over the table, “and it seems like there is little left in my life besides regret. Maybe if I had realized earlier who Delilah was and what she was capable of doing. She could have become a brilliant painter, part of Dunwall's high society, rich and adored, just like she wanted. But I didn't treat her as I should have, didn't see who she really was. What part did I play in her downfall, I wonder...”  
He trails off, working without looking at her.

“Daud, too, could have been great. A brilliant natural philosopher. Him, I saw. There was an accident in a laboratory, a fellow student knocking over blackpowder near an alchemical burner. Suddenly, Daud was there to push the student away and extinguish the fire. He'd been across the laboratory, too far away. But, as if by magic, he crossed the entire room in less than a second. I confronted him but he said that I must have lost track of him in the confusion. My natural curiosity got the better of me and I kept following him. Even made a damn painting, because I hoped to get closer to the Outsider, to solving so many riddles, to learn so much. As soon as the winter allowed, Daud left.”

“It's pointless to linger of what ifs and if onlys,” Emily replies, maybe a bit harsher than she intended, “because one can never know.”

She has done this dance before. What if... she hadn't asked Corvo to play hide and seek before he went up to see mother? He would have met her a few minutes earlier...and maybe that would have meant that the ambush started sooner. Maybe the guards would have been able to intervene. Maybe Mother could have lived. Maybe Corvo would have died as well. Mabe she would have, too. Maybe Daud would have been lying in his own blood, slain by her father. 

She has entertained fantasies like that for years. But they don't help, not in the long term. 

“The past is the past and we can't change that. We only have the future to look out for and that is what matters now.”

Sokolov chuckles. “Emily the Wise, first of her name. What a fine Empress you will make.”


	7. Chapter 7

The weather is only better today by a small margin. Megan could make port, but she is unwilling to risk the Dreadful Wale so close to the city and it's dangerous by skiff. Not to mention the severe dust storms from the mines, capable of darkening the sky for hours at a time. She is unfamiliar with the district and although she hopes that she won't have to spend too much time there, it is called the Dust district for a reason. 

Sokolov is working on her portrait of all things and it is uncomfortable to stay there. It's not the first portrait she had an artist paint of herself, not the first time she had to sit still for hours and endure the constant looks; those are possibly the two most hated things about her position. But she can't stay in her cabin either, having exhausted every form of entertainment from the guitar that needs tuning – not that she can play, merely having watched her father strum the instrument hasn't given her any real insights – a few books and the collection of souvenirs for lack of a better word - that grace the shelves. 

Talking to Megan actually feels like she could stand it, so she goes upstairs, hoping to find her there. There is someone talking, a new voice, but Emily is quick to recognize the recording of “Death in the Month of Songs”, a popular audiograph as of late. She smells cigar smoke and finally spots Megan, leaning against the wall. 

To her great horror, Megan isn't alone. Daud is sitting on the cot with his back to the wall. At least he looks as uncomfortable at seeing her as she feels. She thought that he was still recuperating in Megan's cabin, convalescing out of sight. Her thin luck had run out. Emily didn't want to leave immediately, feeling that it would paint her as weak, choosing to avoid confrontation. She had carried Daud, she could certainly stand to be in the same room, or staircase, for an appropriate amount of time before coming up with a convenient excuse. 

“Did you need me for anything, your majesty?” Megan asks, looking vaguely concerned and it hurts that Emily doesn't know if it's for her or him.  
“Rather the opposite, I came to see if there's any repairs I can do on the ship,” she claims. She had done some odd jobs on the Wale, so it wouldn't be strange if she asked and it was in all their interests to keep the ship afloat.  
“Thank you, but Anton and I took care of everything for now. I might need some spare parts later, but it's better if I buy them from the merchant myself.”  
The following silence was brief but so tense it almost hurt. Daud looked as if he wanted to offer to leave, but couldn't actually do so without assistance, thus creating more awkwardness to escape the awkwardness. 

Emily didn't know what to say, and neither did the others. But it was her duty to carry on, to make pleasant conversation with even the dullest representative and ambassadors and if she could hold a conversation with the watch guard captain in her office without him realizing that she wasn't even wearing pants, she could do this, too. 

“I trust you are healing as expected,” she addressed Daud who looked almost panicked at first.  
“I am, Empress. Thanks to Hypatia and Billie,” something slid over his face, an expression he was too quick to hide, “I am grateful for all you have done.”  
“You will repay me,” she simply stated and he nodded mutely.  
Then Emily noticed something in his hand.  
“Is that a carving knife?”  
Her mother's murderer, wielding a weapon, how many had he killed with a blade like that?

“Bonecharms,” Megan stepped closer to Daud, placing herself not completely between Emily and Daud, but not very far off either.  
That was indeed interesting. So far she had to rely on the charms she found, some of them useful, some of them harmful and some of them completely useless. If he could create bonecharms, specially customized ones....that could give her an advantage. 

“I thought you lost your mark,” she strikes up conversaton as she pulls over the chair and spins it before sitting down, arms crossed over the back of the chair. 

All of them look to his left hand, still in bandages, but not stained with blood. He flexes it.  
“Yes, Delilah took it from me. She... it was as if she had ripped it out. One minute I was fighting her and a dozen witches, and in the next....nothing.” 

What would she feel if she lost the mark? It's been only weeks, but the powers are more than a means to an end. They are a part of her and for all that the time she has had with them was brief, she can't imagine a life without them. The freedom they had granted her, the abilities; she felt unstoppable.  
“She did that to my father, too,” Emily shared, at the same time pathetically grateful for the small connection to Corvo, at the same time ashamed she had given away his secrets so easily. 

“Oh, I bet the Outsider didn't like that,” Daud offered with a nostalgic smile, “the black eyed bastard always liked your father best.”

She bites down on her first answer (Of course he did, he's a man ten times worth more than you) but it does make her curious.  
“Do you know about other marked people then?” Do these people...people like her share a connection? Would she recognize any other marked individuals? She hadn't been marked when she met Delilah and now that she had, Corvo wasn't with her. Daud lost his, too. 

“He doesn't talk with one, as you probably have experienced,” Daud begins, it's clear who 'he' is . “he likes to give mysteries, little bits of information. I knew that 15 years ago, there had been 9 marked individuals, that's what he said; your father, me and Delilah, as you know. It seems unlikely that so many were in Dunwall, even so many in Gristol seems improbable. I know of an old woman, Granny Rags, real name Vera Moray. Went to Pandyssia on expedition and didn't come back right. That's 4 I knew personally. Well, knew is perhaps too much in her case. She tried to get me to complete some rituals for her and when I didn't do it, tried to influence some of my men. But we stayed away.” Daud seems lost in thought for a little while.  
“I doubt that the other 5 were in Gristol. The Outsider sees everything and other continents must have interesting people, too. I traveled the Isles when I was younger, but I didn't have the mark then. Saw a lot of shrines, it's possible I may have encountered one without realizing, but I doubt it.”

“I saw a woman, Mindy Blanchard. She tried to mark herself, I think, by creating special ink,” Emily is surprised by herself, the need to talk almost overwhelming. Her skin prickles as she makes conversation with a man she hates so much, but isn't that what she has brought him back for? 

“Aye, I know of her. Have you seen her wanted posters? She's with the Howlers. The Abbey claims that the gang is involved with the occult, but then, they say that about every enemy they have,” Megan joins. 

“That's almost a certain way of knowing that they're not touched by the void,” Daud chuckles, “the abbey does love its heresy.”

“They failed to spot the Lord Protector, one of the most influential and public people in the whole Empire,” Megan adds. But then, Corvo had always been good at keeping secrets. 

 

“Speaking of heresy,” Emily wants to get back on track, chiding herself for letting the conversation get away from her so quickly, “you can make bonecharms.”  
Daud nods hesitatingly.  
“Can you give them specific qualities?”

“Is that your way of commissioning me, Empress?” he asks bluntly. He doesn't sound rude, not exactly. 

“Rather than relying on random charms I find, it would help me indeed if I could get a reliable source of reliable, stable bone charms,” she says diplomatically.

“So...yes.”

“Yes,” she confirms without rolling her eyes, although it's close.

“Yes and no, Empress,” Daud explains, “I can make specific charms, but I need to study a charm for its effect first and that unfortunately means breaking it apart. I can make new ones based on that charm but it's not a straightforward process. There is the chance of corruption as well. It's not as simple as a wooden ornament.”

“So, you make wooden ornaments, too?” Megan interrupts and her tone is teasing, cheeky even. “Can you do rabbits? I always wanted a rabbit.”  
He does roll his eyes at that, then turns fully to her, placing the knife and half-finished charm besde him on the bed. 

“If there is a specific charm you want me to take a look at, Empress, I can do so. I have some raw whalebone and the other supplies would be on a ship this size anyway,” he offers, “but you would need to tell me of its effect first. I had made a notebook with the patterns and effects I knew, but that would still be at my house. Likely destroyed by now.”  
Briefly she wonders where that would be, how close he had been living to her all that time, but there are more important things to consider. 

“How does it work?” Emily asks.

“The first and most important thing is the whalebone. Whales are...they're not normal animals, as you have probably suspected. And if you carve a whalebone to the right shape, carve the right pattern into it, then the effect takes hold. Then you need to strengthen it, boil it in oil and other ingredients. Then you fixate it with iron and it's done. The actual process can take days, depending on the quality of the bone and the effect you wish to bestow.  
Most bonecharms you find will be like I described. Some people can craft stronger bonecharms by fusing two of those...or even three or four, together into one entity.”

“Can you do that?” she asks, all too eager. She thinks of the favorite charm faintly buzzing on her lapel, enabling her to tread much more silently. If that one could be amplified... 

“In theory, yes. But I haven't done it before, because fusing charms can corrupt them. They will still work, but will have terrible side effects. They're never worth it.”

“But it could work,” she goes on, standing up from her chair, “if you had ample material to work with.”

“You would have to get it right sometime, statistically speaking,” Megan says in the teasing tone. 

“Keep that up and you won't get a rabbit out of me,” he replies deadpan, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. 

 

“I have a job for you then,” Emily announces,“I have whalebone and some charms I could never get to work. You will practice on those and when you're ready, you will create specific charms I ask you to make.”

He nods and she has the odd sensation that he would have bowed if his injures let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's finally the one scene that sort of inspired me to star writing this entire fic. 
> 
> I didn't think that it made much sense for Emily to spontaneously be able to craft bone charms (I could get it with Corvo, he has 15 years of experience and has used charms before, although I don't really see him pick up crafting as a hobby on top of his duties). 
> 
> The one person I could see doing this was Daud. Before DOTO came out, I believed he was retired somewhere out of the way, having laid down his sword and stopped killing. 
> 
> I also thought it would be interesting if Emily and Daud had been able to meet in DH2.
> 
> So, my mind combined those two wishes into "Daud makes bone charms for Emily". 
> 
> Also, no idea if charms are made this way. 
> 
> Hope you like it.


	8. Chapter 8

On this day she would go to the Dust District and enter the Stilton mansion. But Emily knew that things wouldn't be that straightforward as walking inside or even breaking in. Jindosh had supplied the lock that Stilton was behind so it would take considerable effort to surpass it.   
Plus, Megan had informed her of a gang war in the district. The board in the main room now sported pictures of Paolo, leader of the Howlers and Vice-Overseer Liam Byrne. Emily had no love for either group and it wasn't easy to tell which outcome of that war would be most beneficial to her and the people of Karnaca.   
Underneath the wanted poster showing Paolo's face and the sketch of Byrne, new notes had been posted.   
Emily read them quickly – summaries of gathered information, ranked by degree of importance and likely level of truth (the Abbey always liked to spread and exaggerate any rumours there were about their enemies) and after that, plans for dealing with either, neither or both, also ranked, this time by subtlety and difficulty.   
She was about to congratulate Anton on his excellent and helpful analysis as he walked in but she noticed just in time that the handwriting didn't match his. Or Megan's. And that meant that there was only one person who could have written those notes. 

Daud was back in his cabin, working on the bonecharms she had requested. She wondered if she should go inside before she left. She wasn't about to thank him for the notes, as helpful as they were (did he make notes like these for her mother? Did he pick the easiest route? How many backup plans had there been if the attack on the gazebo had failed?) but it would be prudent to ask about the progress of the charms. 

“Do, don't think,” she repeated in her mind as she knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. It was the first time she had seen inside the cabin. It was smaller than hers, just enough space for a cot and a desk and nothing else. Daud was hunched over at the desk, next to him a small wooden crate full of raw whalebone. A charm-to-be was in a bench vise and he carefully etched a design into it. He didn't look up but greeted her.  
“Good morning, your majesty.”

Somehow Emily was pleased at the respectful tone and the apparent sincerity, but it was still hard to deal with. Her anger would be easier to stomach if he behaved in a contrary fashion.   
“I wanted to inquire about the progress of my commission,” she began, not sure why she slipped back into the polished tones of court when she dealt with him. Maybe it was an additional layer between them? She couldn't imagine Daud had ever spent much time in high society and the necessary customs.

“I'm working on something makes climbing a bit quicker,” he explained, “the design is almost done. It should be operational by the evening.”

That was phenominally fast. Suspiciously fast.   
“It's astounding how quickly you work, considering your state of health and the additional notes up on the board,” she said coolly.   
The “Explain yourself” went unsaid, but not unheard.   
He still didn't look up. 

“I've been making charms for years. Carving the shape comes easy. And it's not like I didn't have time to create some spares before you asked me.”

She did discover him carving one...how foolish had she been to assume that it had been his only one?   
“How many?” she simply asked in a tone that didn't condone any objections. 

“Blank charms? Aside from this one here, I have six. There's a charm boiling in a pot in the kitchen that should be ready in a few hours.”

The tone, how he said it... again, boasting would justify her anger. Gloating, she could deal with. She had been used to go up against those types of responses all her life, especially when she had been crowned as the child empress. But Daud was helpful. He talked about the secret stash of charms as if he was merely talking about the weather. As if... as if it didn't even occur to him that he had revealed how much of a threat he still was to her. His efficiency was frightening. 

“How are you doing this?” she asked. It sounded less like the demand she wanted to make. Emily didn't like how her voice escaped at 'doing', her emotions threatening to break free. 

Daud did turn to face her. He seemed a world away from both the man he'd been 15 years ago and the prisoner she had found. His hair was white, skin still pale, clothes clean. If she ignored the bandages peeking out of the sleeves, ignored the knife ( a knife in his hand, the subject of countless nightmares), he looked unremarkable.   
“I carved the first charm when my hand was steady enough to hold a blade. That was days ago.”  
It wasn't a threat or taunt. Merely a fact. A starting point for her to put 2 and 2 together.

“You're using a charm already,” she concluded.   
He laid the knife down gently and reached into his shirt to pull out a charm held on a string. In that instant, he looked like one of the fishermen she had seen on the docks. It was a single charm, unremarkable; one could easily mistake it for a beast's tooth, a souvenir. Definitely not like a heretical artifact that could cost one's life should an Overseer catch word of its existence. 

“It makes healing easier. I'm not sure what exactly it does – stave off infection or help with convalescence, boosts the natural properties of medicine already administered, and I'm too old to experiment with it.”  
He sounded a bit like Sokolov with his lectures then. How would her life had turned out if he stayed at the Academy? Become an natural philosopher instead of her mother's assassin? Emily chastised herself – it was no use to dwell on what ifs. What counted was who they were now and what Daud was capable of doing for her at this moment in time. 

“What have you made for me?”

Daud tapped on the charm around his neck. “The one in the pot should be identical to this one.”

It sounded like a good start, better health for her. 

“I can put whatever you want on the rest, provided I have a functional template.”  
Parting with her best charms would leave her weaker in the Dust District, but the pay-out was too tempting to ignore. 

“Very well, I will leave you a selection before I depart.”  
She turned to leave, ignoring the shriek inside her, how she could turn her back on this monster. Emily had learned long ago how to project any confidence she lacked with convinction. 

There was something in the air, a tension, words unspoken, but it was not just her. Daud had yet to get back to his work, hadn't even picked up the knife. How easy it would be to dispatch of him. Emily did not like what the past days had done to her mind, thoughts like this coming up unprompted and sudden, barely sounding like herself.   
Would her mother recognize the person she had become? Was Emily honoring her memory? And was honoring her memory the same as honoring the person?   
She couldn't think about this, not here, not with him breathing so close. 

“I'm not sure if I should say it. If it's too much for you to hear, if I can burden you with this... or if you deserve no less and it's cruel to keep this to myself,” Daud began and there's something in his voice that made her, not exactly turn around, but incline her head. She was listening. His voice was thick, the words coming haltingly.

“I regret it. Everything. It was the worst thing I have ever done and there is no excuse. For now, I will do whatever I can do aid you. And after,”  
Her hand clenched around her sword, her father's sword.  
“I will accept your judgement, Empress Kaldwin.”

There's only one thing she could say, one thing that could come out without the accusations, the tears and the screams. Without the violence that wanted to follow. 

“And judged you will be.”

 

Emily left with controlled steps, not fleeing, not retreating. Slowly, she detached the charms from her coat, leaving them on Sokolov's workbench.   
Afterwards, she met Sokolov on deck. 

He informed her that Megan had gone ahead and that he would bring her to the district. 

Leaving Daud unsupervised. His confession had not had the intended effect. If reassuring her had been his intention... but she was quick to dismiss that line of thinking. That wasn't what he had meant. Daud had meant to lighten his own conscience. He had even called it a burden himself. It was a confession born of selfishness. 

She didn't think that he'd run. Sokolov sensed that she was deeply in thought, but said nothing. He smiled at her, kindly, as he never had when she'd been a child. 'Grandfatherly' was the word that came to mind, not that she had much experience in that regard with both of hers dead before her birth. Old Samuel came the closest, probably. And he was long gone. 

 

She tugged the mask over her face and watched the boat speed towards the land.


End file.
